


Give, and It Will Be Given to You

by Wulfykins



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Special, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Two Fathers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28256190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wulfykins/pseuds/Wulfykins
Summary: Young Arthur Morgan had one last mission before years end; to give little John Marston something special. Something Arthur never got to experience when he was a child. A gift and a happy Christmas.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur's hands were balled up into fists, he brought them close together, up to his lips so he could blow hot air into them. December was a cold month, too cold to be prone on damp, frost hardened dirt.

Unfortunately he had no choice, had to stay low while he stalked his target, or targets, there being at least four of them that he could see.

Four, rough, armed to the teeth men.

He first encountered them at the only saloon in town, a place where he wasn't supposed to be.

 _'That saloon is full of good for nothing men who would steal the drink from under your nose and plunge a knife in your gut while they're at it. It's no place for a fifteen year old.'_ Hosea told him.

But he had a mission, on top of that he knew they'd be a good mark, dangerous, but good. Arthur watched them gamble with their money at a game of poker, throw their fists around whenever they lost. Eventually they were thrown out. He decided to follow them, lingered far behind as they went about their daily activities of bullying and robbing other folk.

He stumbled on their camp a few hours ago, had tracked them for a few miles. To be fair, it was a small miracle he had found them at all, his tracking skills being next to non existent as they were.

Now he lay here, waited for them to settle down for the night so he could sneak in and retrieve what he was after. The men were in the midst of setting their tents up and got a fire going.

Fire. How nice and warm that must be, it tempted him to return home so he could sit by one, enjoy it's heat against his shivering body.

No. He had a mission, walked for hours to get here, to abandon it now was not an option he would settle with.

Several more hours went by, hours which the men spent drinking and boasting about their latest spoils. Only now had their cheerful moods finally quieted down as they one by one retired to their tents. Only one of them appeared to have fallen asleep next to the campfire.

This was his chance, ideally he'd wait a bit longer, but Arthur feared that the cold would only worsen as the night progressed.

Now or never. He clambered to his feet, hands and legs felt stiff, fingers clammy from the frosted air. He pushed forward, carefully made his way down the hill. Three in their tents, one at the fire, the only one he had to worry about.

Arthur approached the camp from behind the passed out feller, heard him snore.

Good.

He paused at the spot where they stashed their loot, glanced around, waited, wished his breath wouldn't come out in visible puffs.

Arthur leaned in to the chest, listened as he fiddled around with his lock pick until he heard that victorious click. Quickly but quietly he pocketed most of it's contents, at least the things which would fit in his satchel.

Ready to leave, unseen like a shadow in the night. He stopped, his eyes spotted another prize. A few cans of food adjacent to the passed out man's chair.

The closer he got, the less he dared to breathe, one can, two cans. Take the rest or leave it? Satchel was heavy, should go.

One more.

Arthur gasped when his wrist was grabbed by a hand much larger than his own.

“The fuck you think you're doin'?” The big guy snarled.

“Oi, lads, got ourselves a wee thief 'ere.” Big guy shouted with a thick Irish accent.

Arthur's eyes were wide with panic, he attempted to jerk his arm away, but the brute was bigger and stronger than he. The others emerged from their tents, dressed in nothing more than their long johns.

Not good.

“The hell you doing lettin' a boy sneak up on ye?” One of the men questioned.

“Kiss my arse. You take watch in this bleedin' cold.” Big guy pulled his knife out.

His eyes darted around the immediate area, he had to think fast, improvise like he had never done before. 

“Ya know what we do with thieves and their grubby little hands?” The big feller sneered.

“We cut 'em off!” One of the men finished the sentence, the others laughed.

Hand, that's it. Still crouched Arthur reached for a cup from which steam still rose, emptied it against the big fellers hand.

“Aaargh!” Big guy screamed, backhanded Arthur's face as he let go of him.

The blow hurt, stunned him for a second, but Arthur managed to crawl backwards for a few paces, scrambled to his feet and dashed away with all his might.

“Lil' fucker is getting away, get 'im.”

“Shit, shit shit.” He had to hurry, get out of their line of sight as soon as possible, the men had horses, he didn't.

Arthur kept running, legs stiff for different reasons. Every time he glanced behind him he could see lanterns in the distance, could hear them taunt him as they drew closer. He reached a steep incline, straight into a river.

No time to hesitate, he dropped down to his ass, carefully calculated every step until he landed knee deep in ice cold water.

 _Very_ cold water.

He made his way across, exhausted from his battle against the current. The forest ahead was thicker, provider better cover, they wouldn't be able to cross where he had, hopefully no where near that location either.

Arthur continued to run until his lungs had nothing left, until every breath was visible as a large cloud. Boots and socks soaked, pants as well. He forgot to pack anything to make a fire, stupid mistake. Probably for the best, fire was a bad idea, the men with guns could still be hot on his heels.

Keep going.

He pushed through, walked for a few more miles until he approached the outer edge of the last town he was in. The place where he first spotted the group of four.

His stride was now reduced to a slow pace, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He kept going until he reached the stables. Attempted to pry it's lock open with trembling fingers, not easy, but not impossible.

Arthur slipped in, carefully glanced around. Place was devoid of people, as expected. It was hard to see but he managed to find an empty stall, packed with hay, would have to do. He got undressed, draped his soaked clothes over it's barrier. He managed to spot a few saddle blankets, spread them out over the hay, used the last two to cover his body as best as he could. The hay wasn't comfortable, but it provided some insulation against the cold. 

Now that he felt somewhat safe he finally fished through the contents of his satchel, it was hard to see, light of the moon barely made it through the slits. One item in particular caught his interest, as did a second. For the first time today he found some energy and a reason to smile.

Two more things left to do once the morning came in, then he could head back home. Arthur closed his eyes, drifted off faster than expected.

~~~

He was jostled from his sleep when a boot his thigh.

“Hey!” A voice shouted.

His eyes shot open, wildly darted around, they found him, would cut his hand off or worse.

“The hell you doing in my stable, boy?!” An elderly man stood over him, a scowl on his face.

“Uh... sorry mister, it was c-cold... I-” Arthur stammered, his heart raced, fuelled by adrenaline when he feared for his life.

“Don't give a damn how cold it was, get your scrawny ass out of here before I be calling the sheriff.” The older man said.

Arthur nodded, got up as fast as possible, started to fumble with his still damp clothes. The older man stayed close, watched his every move as he continued to curse at him about being on his property and whatnot.

"Don't never let me see you break into my stable again!" The older man shoved him out the door.

A low hanging mist covered the area outside, blocked out most of the early morning sun. Damn, he would have loved a few warm rays of sun against his skin.

Arthur stretched his limbs, all of them stiff and sore, his jaw being what hurt the most. Deep breath, tired still, his rest had been short, interrupted many times by his shivering limbs. Onward to his first stop, not far from here, half a mile or so.

The smoke which rose from the tiny cabin was the first thing he saw. He removed his hat, held it to his chest before he knocked on the flimsy door.

“Ma'am.” He nodded at the woman, managed a weary smile.

She glanced over him, around him, searched for something or someone else with a deep frown on her face, black bags under her eyes.

“Yes?” She kept the door half closed, shielded herself with it.

“Who is it, ma?” A little boy emerged from behind her, his tiny hands woven into the fabric of his mothers shoddy dress.

“Hush Liam, go back to your brothers and sisters.” She ushered him back.

Arthur cleared his throat, licked his lips. “I mean you no ill will, ma'am.”

“I'm sorry boy, can't offer you nothing.” She said.

Arthur shoved his foot between the door as she was about to close it, this startled her, Arthur hastily raised his hands in surrender. Slowly he reached into his satchel, pulled out a small pouch and held it out to her.

Her wide eyes narrowed, the frown returned, was quickly replaced by bewilderment when she recognized the item and took it from him. She inspected the contents, the few coins which rested inside.

“H-how?” She asked.

“Saw them fellers rob you, followed them and robbed the robbers.” Arthur mumbled, kept his head lowered.

He flinched when her arms flew around him, pulled him closer for a warm embrace.

Unexpected.

...

Awkward.

“Oh thank you young man, thank you so much. Thought we was going to starve.” She sobbed.

“Uhm.” He gently pushed her off, the embrace too much, not his thing. “No need to thank me, bastards deserved it. Ain't right to rob a woman and her children.”

“Please, come in, let me offer you something.” She sniffled, rubbed her tears away.

He shook his head. “Got some other business to attend to. Thank you kindly for the offer.” Arthur donned his hat again.

“If only more people possessed your kindness. I hope good fortune befalls you.” Her smile mimicked the warmth in her eyes.

Arthur blushed, wished he had just left the money on her doorstep, but then some other bastards could steal it.

“Oh.” He fished out the two cans of food, placed them in her hands as she stood there, stunned by the gesture. “Ain't much but... it's something.” Arthur mumbled.

He stepped back when she leaned in for another hug, held his hands out to her. “I should go, merry Christmas, ma'am.”

She nodded, seemed to understand the discomfort he silently expressed. 'Bless you,' she mouthed.

He tipped his hat at her, made his way back to town for the rest of his business.

The general store was said business, it's bell clanged against the door as he entered, the shopkeeper immediately stared at him with suspicion in his eyes.

He must look ragged and filthy from lying and crawling through the dirt, bruise on his jaw didn't help neither. 

Arthur ignored the man's judgmental stare, browsed for the items he wanted.

“You best not be here to steal boy, make no mistake I ain't afraid of giving the likes of you a good whooping if the need arises.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I _have_ money.” Everyone was always so judgmental of him, tiresome. He grabbed a few bars of chocolate and some other candies, set them down on the counter. A book sat on the edge of it, it's cover caught his interest. He flipped it around, frowned.

“T-the s, the sss-says... of the s- sr... shh- shroo iiin the f- foo- fog.” He attempted to read it's title out loud, his lessons with Hosea hadn't gone too well thus far.

“The case of the shrew in the fog. Bit too complicated for you, boy.” The shopkeeper said.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “How much?”

“For the lot? Eighteen dollars.” The man rested his hand on top of the book.

“What?! I could buy a horse with that.” Arthur grumbled.

“Chocolate and books don't come cheap, boy. Take it or leave it.”

Arthur sighed, he spent months saving up for a horse. But this was more important, he'd wait another year if he had to, should have worked harder, his fault. He started to count the coins in his hand, struggled to remember what came past the number twelve.

“Put 'em on the counter, I'll help you count.”

“So you can lie and steal from me?” Arthur closed his hand. “Ain't gonna happen.”

“Don't have all day boy, got stock to re-fill.” The shopkeeper tapped his fingers on the counter.

Arthur sighed, spread the coins out on the counter, watched with all the concentration he could muster as the man counted them for him, slowly and out loud.

“You got one dollar extra, that's a lot of money for a young man such as yourself.” 

There was that judgment again, suppose the feller weren't that wrong, most of it was stolen.

“Can I trade the dollar for smaller coins?” He asked.

The shopkeeper frowned, opened his register and placed three coins of twenty-five cents on the table.

Arthur stared at them, counted on his fingers. “Ain't there supposed to be four to the dollar?”

“Right, my mistake.” Shopkeeper added another coin.

He scooped up the candy and coins, stuffed them in his satchel, the book he kept under his arm, too large to be stowed. Shopkeeper didn't take his eyes off him for a single second until he was out of the store.

“One more stop.” Arthur mumbled to himself.

“Extra extra! Dangerous gang of men with green bandanna's robbed the Winston Express train, read all about it!” The boy waved his newspaper around.

“One please.” Arthur traded a coin for a paper. Nodded at the boy then searched for a quiet place with a clean, flat surface.

He sat down on a bench outside the small chapel. Opened the newspaper, removed a single sheet and placed the book on top of it. It took him a few clumsy tries but eventually he managed to wrap it.

Somewhat.

He wound some thin hemp rope around it, tied it off and placed it next to him.

Hosea.

Next up was the candy, he piled it up, wrapped it in another sheet of newspaper and tied it off as well, it looked worse than the book, but he gave it his best effort.

John.

Last but not least, the beautifully waxed pipe and a small tin of tobacco he found in the chest of those dishonourable men. He struggled with this one, it's shape not as convenient to be wrapped. His frustration rapidly grew, this was the one he wanted to wrap as perfectly as possible, the one he failed at the most.

“Can I offer you a helping hand?”

Arthur raised his head, glanced up at the woman dressed in black and white.

“Uh, it's fine I... I'll manage.” Arthur mumbled. He had to shuffle over when she sat down next to him, hands on her lap, a smile on her face while her gaze switched from person to person as they walked along the dirt road in the distance.

Arthur shook his head, none too comfortable with her presence being forced on him. He lowered his head, re-focused on the task at hand.

“Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.” The sister said as she continued to stare ahead.

“Huh?” Arthur frowned as her words sank in, he then turned his head to her. “I ain't no charity case, sister.”

“Never said you were. I was referring to you, not myself.” She replied.

Arthur's frown deepened. “Sorry sister, I'm too stupid for that sort of talk.” He chuckled at himself.

“Actions speak louder than words.” She said.

“Ain't gotten smarter in the last minute, you still lost me.” He shook his head, the conversation made it hard for him to concentrate.

“That was you wasn't it? At the Hemsdale cabin, bringing alms to those in need.”

“You spying on me sister?” He said with a smile on his face.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps my eyes were drawn to the brightness in your heart?” 

Arthur laughed. “Nothing bright in my heart.”

“If you say so. I suppose it's commonplace for those with a dark heart to go around and give to the poor. Or to sit on benches and wrap gifts for friends or loved ones.” She raised a brow at him.

Arthur's mouth was agape, she had him there. “Just felt like doing something nice, is all.” He muttered.

“It's a good thing, to give.” She said.

“Wouldn't know, never been given nothing. Ma died before I was old enough to remember a thing. My pa... well, let's just say he weren't the giving sort, lest it was a fist to the face.” Arthur snorted.

“Did you expect the young lady to give you something in return?” 

“'Course not. Doubt she got anything left with that many mouths to feed.” Arthur fiddled with the wrapping in his lap. “Could have gotten her more if I hadn't messed up.” He mumbled more so to himself.

“So much valour for one as young such as yourself.” She smiled.

“I'm a thief sister, make no mistake of that. Ain't got no qualms about taking what I want, when I want.” Arthur sat up straight, lowered the brim of his hat and sniffed once.

“Oh, so you're of the dangerous, giving sort?" She asked.

Her tone made him side-glance at her. He couldn't care less if she didn't believe him, he knew what he was.

“Listen, just trying to do something nice for my... my fa- my group. Things been rough and they be needing, something. That don't make me a good man.”

“It makes you a man. Gives you purpose and identity, no matter if you like it or not. Your actions define you, not by how you see them, but by how they are observed through others.”

Arthur furrowed his brows, stared down at his hands as they sat in silence.

Not long after, the wrapping and items were taken out of his lap.

“Uhm, what you doing?” Were all sisters this persistent?

“Giving. Something you seem to be all too familiar with, so no pretending you don't understand what it is and why people do it.” She undid Arthur's clumsy wrapping, moved the items around and made quick work of it. Turned it into a very nice looking package, tied it off with a perfect bowstring and handed it back to him.

Arthur was unable to look away from it, the pipe and box blended into a perfectly wrapped whole.

Dutch.

“T-thank you.” He croaked.

“Tssk.” She slapped his arm, very lightly and playfully, “dangerous men don't say thank you.” She smirked, rose up from the bench.

Arthur cleared his throat, felt the need to stand up as well, if only to be polite, he removed his hat, pressed it against his chest.

“Sister Calderón.” She held her hand out to him.

“Arthur Morgan.” He shook hers.

“It has truly been a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. If you ever feel like you need a break from being dangerous, come find me here. There's always room for those looking to help others.”

“Sure.” He slightly bowed his head, cheeks still flushed. Arthur hurried to gather his items, it was time for the long walk back to camp.

~~~

The evening already rolled in when he turned off the path, far later than he planned his return. His walk home had been slow, legs angry about all the strain they've had to suffer in the last day and a half, his ankle felt hot and throbbed, but only recently. He expected to get an earful upon his return, Dutch and Hosea never liked him to be gone for longer than half a day, even that stretched it. He patted his satchel, the items safe. The book he placed under his armpit, on the inside of his damp winter-coat. He made sure it was buttoned-up all the way.

“Heavens almighty! Where have you been?!” Hosea got up from his stool.

Arthur swallowed, already noticed the absence of Dutch's horse.

“We've been worried sick.” Hosea approached him.

“Uh, yeah, got lost on my way back.” He shrugged.

“You got lost and ran into a tree? Or did the tree run into you?” Hosea cupped Arthur's chin, turned his head to get a better view of the bruise on Arthur's jaw.

“Something like that.” He meekly said.

“Dutch left hours ago, looking for you. You know better than to be gone for so long, or to wander out too far.” Hosea chided.

Arthur lowered his head. “Sorry sir.”

Hosea sighed, placed his hand on various spots of Arthur's body. “Get some dry clothes on before you catch something worse than a fist.”

“Yes sir.” Arthur mumbled, headed straight for his tent.

“Arthur!” John hopped off his cot, wrapped his arms around Arthur waist, too small to cover the whole circumference of it.

“Hey you.” He started to pry the little arms off his body, couldn't hold back a tiny smile. He then tossed his coat on top of his own cot, buried the book underneath it.

“Ow!” Arthur frowned at the light punch which was in fact the little man's full strength.

“Thought you was gone forever!” John looked up at him with a scowl.

“Whoa, hey kiddo, I wouldn't leave ya.” John sure had a lot of spunk for a six year old.

“You. Promised. To not. Be gone. For long.” John punched Arthur's upper thigh between every word.

“Christ, you're gonna bruise me.” Arthur took John's wrists in his hand. The boy wriggled something fierce.

“I'm back okay? Ain't going nowhere.” Arthur cooed.

John resorted to using his legs, aimed for Arthur's shin, but the little shit now had a grin on his face.

“Alright that's it.” Arthur smirked, lifted John over his shoulder. “Gonna throw you in that campfire, cook and eat ya."

“No! I ain't food!” John giggled as he squirmed in Arthur's arm.

Arthur smirked, opened the tent and stepped outside while he carried John. Out there he found himself face to face with Dutch. The man had his arms crossed in front of him, tight lipped, brows pulled together.

Arthur swallowed, set John down.

“Dutch.” Arthur averted his eyes from the man, lowered his head.

“Forty. Three. Hours.” Dutch emphasized every word.

“I... I got lost. Won't happen again.” Arthur fiddled with the fabric of his shirt.

“Got lost doing what exactly?”

“S-stuff.” Arthur's voice grew weaker.

“Stuff?” Dutch shook his head. “We've been worried sick. Thought I was going to find you dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“Sorry.”

“You can't keep doing this to us, son.” Dutch walked over.

Arthur slowly nodded. Fingers wrapped around his jaw, turned it slightly.

“Lift your shirt.” Dutch ordered.

Arthur sighed, knew it was best to not object when Dutch used his stern voice.

Dutch lifted it higher, checked every side of Arthur, he lowered it again after being satisfied with his inspection.

“Your clothes are wet, change before you get sick.” Dutch said.

“Already told him that.” Hosea loudly said from behind Dutch, seated at the campfire.

“Well I'm saying it again.” Dutch snapped.

“Boy isn't deaf.” Hosea said.

“That is something I'm not too sure about.” Dutch narrowed his eyes at Arthur.

“I'll eh-,” he pointed behind him, towards his tent, “-go change.”

Arthur let out a deep breath once inside and alone. That was close, thought he'd get much more of an earful. He lifted his coat, hid the book under his pillow. Part of him feared they would be too angry to care about his gifts, use it as a reason to yell at him some more. That it was stupid to put himself at risk for something so meaningless. Meaningless to them, not to him. Especially little Johnny, boy shouldn't grow up without experiencing at least one Christmas. Hosea and Dutch probably didn't care about it, too old for silly things like gifts.

Arthur sat down on his cot, removed his boots. He'll never know what it's like to be a kid and celebrate Christmas with family, too old for it now. His head turned towards his pillow, maybe it was best if he kept the ones for Hosea and Dutch. Surely they wouldn't laugh at him if he gifted only John. Wouldn't call it childish and silly.

He exchanged the rest of his dirty and damp clothes for a set of fresh and dry ones. After that he hurried outside, looked hard for even the tiniest of chores he could do. It was his way of showing how sorry he was for worrying them so much.

Neither Dutch nor Hosea spoke to him for the rest of the evening. Hosea spent most of his time with John, teaching the kid how to read. Dutch remained hidden in his tent, probably couldn't stand the sight of him. For a second he feared he pushed them too far, used up his last chance to prove that he was a good addition to their group. Would they kick him out? Send him on his way with nothing but the clothes on his back, exactly how they found him a few months ago.

Arthur swallowed, he still had a chance, just had to work harder, keep chopping wood. Wash John's clothes, make sure their supply of water is adequate. He just needed his legs and foot to cooperate, only a few more hours. The cramp from earlier only made things worse, left him with an ever harder to hide limp. He couldn't allow them to see it, being crippled would definitely be the final straw for his forced departure.

No. He was determined to make this work, to show that he belonged here and not out there, alone and miserable.

“Hosea!” Dutch yelled his name, cursed afterwards.

Arthur swallowed, wondered if Dutch had spent all this time deciding if he could stay or not. Man sounded angry, probably called Hosea to finalize his decision.

A tug on his sleeve.

He lowered his head, frowned.

“Do you have any sweeties?” John whispered.

“Sorry kiddo, you know you ain't allowed none before bed. Don't want you keeping me up neither.”

John's lower lip pushed outward, his brows pulled together simultaneously.

Arthur rolled his eyes and sighed. “Lemme check.”

“Yay!- oompf.” John used both hands to cover his mouth. “Sowwee,” he whispered.

Arthur shook his head, checked his satchel and held a half eaten carrot out to John with a smirk on his face.

“That ain't no sweety.” John's face contorted to one of disgust.

“Isn't, John. Isn't, not ain't.” Hosea said from behind Arthur. “Also if I'm not mistaken it's way past your bedtime, no more sugary treats.”

“Awww but I-” John's mouth snapped shut when Hosea raised his index finger, he nodded at the older man.

“Good night Hosea.” John hurried over and wrapped his arms around Hosea's legs.

“Good night Arthur.” He did the same to Arthur, only at waist height. Lastly he stormed into Dutch's tent but was quickly ushered out.

“You should know better than to give him sugar this late.” Hosea chided.

Another screw up.

“Now he's getting in the habit of speaking like you as well.” Hosea sighed.

And another screw up. Why couldn't he stop messing up tonight of all nights. At this rate they'd boot him before he could wish John a merry Christmas.

“Hosea!” Dutch yelled.

“Oh for heavens sake, not again. Are your chores done?” Hosea asked.

“Almost sir.”

Hosea sighed, left for Dutch's tent.

Shit, get your damned chores done. Arthur hurried over to the wagon, dragged the heavy square bale off of it. He had to use both hands to lift, hissed when his leg protested. So tired.

“Come on.” He could drag it, but that would leave a trail, waste some of it too. Stupid fucking leg, stupid fucking gifts.

Screw this.

Arthur grabbed an empty sack from the wagon, stormed into his tent. It was over, if not today then surely tomorrow. Dutch wouldn't even speak to him any more, that's probably what they argued about, who would be the one to tell him it was time to leave.

He wouldn't give them the chance.

A spare set of clothes, that's all he had, all he needed, stuffed it all into his sack.

“What you doing?” John whispered.

“Nothing, go back to sleep."

“You mustn't lie.” John said.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, gathered the few sheets of paper with his drawings and added them to his bag, didn't care if it crumpled them up.

John gasped when realization hit him. “You're leaving us?!”


	2. Chapter 2

Clothes, drawings, pencil and two pictures of his long dead parents, not sure why he even carried a picture of Lyle, bastard of a man. Sentimental value? A visual reminder to never be the man he was? Arthur shrugged, then remembered he hid a sheet of paper under his pillow. He lifted it, then the gift wrapped book, the sheet of paper was worn, bore the markings of being folded and unfolded many times. Crumpled even, from all the times he almost threw it away. He decided to pocket it, wouldn't want anyone to find it.

“Arthur?!” John stopped whispering.

He closed the bag, got all he owned, everything now stuffed into the empty sack of grain. With no more than three coins of twenty-five cents to his name, he was ready to start over, to be alone again.

“Is you leaving?!” John repeated, louder than before.

Arthur sighed, should have waited until the kid was fast asleep.

“Don't igor me!” John said.

“Ignore,” Arthur corrected. “Now go back to sleep,” he turned around to face John, narrowed his eyes.

John hopped out of his cot, straightened up, chin high, lips set in a tight line.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, it was easier to intimidate a bear than this kid. 

“ _Please_ get back in bed 'n stay quiet, 'm just going out for a quick trip. Be back before you know it.” His voice cracked when he uttered those last few words.

“Liar!” John shouted.

“Whatever kid.” Arthur threw the sack over his shoulder, left the tent.

“You promised you wouldn't go again!” John followed him out, wrapped his arms around Arthur's leg. “Won't let you!”

“Why do you always have to be so damned annoying?!” Arthur hissed, the death grip on his bad leg did him no good.

“Dutch! Hosea!” John yelled.

“Seriously?!” Arthur struggled to pry the boys arms off of his leg, kid was stronger than he looked.

“What on earth is going on?” Hosea asked when both he and Dutch stormed out of the large tent.

“He's leaving again!” John tightened his grip, his eyes squeezed shut from the effort he was putting in.

“Little rat.” Arthur whispered down at him.

“Leaving?” Hosea frowned.

Arthur sighed in frustration, might as well put all his cards on the table now.

“Going _where_ exactly?” Dutch asked, first time he spoke to him in many hours.

“Does it matter? I'm leaving before you can kick me out. That way it's my choice.”

“Kick you out? Have you been hit on the head?” Hosea said in bewilderment.

“Don't pretend that ain't what's happening.” Arthur held his hand up, stopped them before they could interrupt.

“You was right, what I've gone and done was foolish and irresponsible, yes I've lied, gotten into a fight when I was supposed to lay low, came back later than I should've.” Arthur dropped the sack in his hand.

“All them rules broken and I didn't come back with shit for the camp funds, didn't finish my damned chores...” He shook his head, the more he spoke, the more he felt like a complete failure.

“Arthur...” Dutch started, his expression hard to read past the shadows cast on their faces from the lantern.

“I get it, I ain't worth shit.” He interrupted Dutch, wanted to get everything out before he would be shown the door.

“Ain't never done nothing right in my life, been told that plenty. But I tried.” He pointed at himself, sniffled. “A-and I'm sorry that I worried you so much, sorry that I keep screwing shit up.” He had to look away when the words became harder to push past the lump in his throat.

“T-that's why I'm goin', s-saving you both the t-trouble on deciding who d-delivers the news.” Arthur hated how much he started to stammer, how it made him sound like a crybaby.

“No! You won't leave, won't let you!” John still clung to him as if his life depended on it.

Dutch and Hosea spared each other a brief glance.

“Arthur...” Hosea started.

“Son...” Dutch said almost simultaneously.

They eyed each other again, silently decided who would go first.

Dutch nodded at Hosea. “Son, we weren't discussing no such thing.”

“I saw the disappointment in your eyes. You couldn't even speak to me no more.” His lips quivered as he spoke.

“No. No no no.” Dutch approached him, shook his head. “I wasn't disappointed in you, only in myself. Because I failed to properly teach you how to take care of yourself.” Dutch's hand reached out for Arthur's cheek and cupped it, the side which was bruised.

“You're young Arthur. Of course you'll go out there, into the world. There's nothing wrong with that.” Dutch continued, his thumb lightly stroked over Arthur's cheek.

“But when we took you in we accepted a responsibility. Not to keep you away from danger, that's impossible. We accepted that it was our duty to make sure that you'd be ready to face whatever is out there.”

“Ngggh!” John growled in protest when Hosea pried him off of Arthur's leg. “Come on you, you've done your job.” Hosea told John, carried him to their tent.

“There are going to be mistakes, son. Today, tomorrow, next week. From you, from us. It's through our mistakes the we learn how to succeed.” Dutch's hand moved to the back of Arthur's head, pulled him closer to his chest.

“You won't get kicked out for that Arthur, for nothing, not now, not ever.” Dutch wrapped his arms around Arthur's, pulled his whole body closer.

Arthur's sobs were muffled against Dutch chest, tears flowed freely down his face, “'m sorry.”

“Me too son, me too.” Dutch patted his back.

Dutch cleared his throat after they stood there for a few minutes.

“So, are we past all that leaving nonsense?” Dutch ended their embrace, lifted the boys chin.

Arthur nodded, used his sleeve to wipe away the snot and tears.

“Does that mean you'll still be here in the morning?” Dutch asked again.

“Y-yes sir.” He stammered.

“Good, that's my boy. Get some rest.” Dutch ushered him over to his tent.

“Hold.” Hosea blocked the entrance to Arthur's tent.

Arthur swallowed, stared at him, eyes wide. Could it be that Hosea saw things differently than Dutch?

“What's wrong with your leg?” Hosea asked, Dutch immediately stepped away from Arthur for a better view.

“N-nothing, 's fine, I can still work.” Oh God, don't let this be the thing that ruins it. Mistakes, sure, but being too injured to work, that would be a no go.

“Nonsense, off to Dutch's tent with you, where we have some proper light.” Hosea grabbed hold of Arthur's right arm, while Dutch did the same to his left.

“R-really it's fine. Just need to sleep on it.” He said.

“I'll be the judge of that.” Hosea replied.

His foot screamed out in pain whenever he put his weight on it. He was grateful that he could lean on their shoulders for support and hopped along between them. They sat him down in Dutch's tent, inspected his leg and foot.

“Looks to be sprained. Lucky for you I got something which should help with that.” Hosea exited the tent before his sentence ended.

“Son, this is very important okay? I need you to promise me that you'll never _ever_ hide your injuries from us. Do you understand?” Dutch gave Arthur's hand a light squeeze.

“Y-yes sir.” He lowered his head.

“Stop that.” Dutch lifted his chin again. “I'm not sir, or mister. I'm Dutch, he's Hosea.”

“S-sorry, old habit.” 

“We don't demand obedience or any form of submission.” Dutch cooed. “A willingness to learn, that's what matters most.”

“I wanna learn.” He mumbled.

“Of course you do, and learn you shall.” Dutch smiled, moved aside so Hosea could do his work.

“No more crazy adventures Arthur, this needs to rest for a few days.” Hosea carefully applied his mixture on top of the swollen area.

Arthur hissed in pain. “It's fine, I can still work, I promise.”

“Arthur, when resting is what's best for you, you'll rest.” Dutch sternly said.

“Thought you said obedience weren't no thing?” Arthur frowned.

“Oh-ho. Sounds like our boy found his voice again.” Hosea grinned.

“What I meant was to say that... well, you see by obedience I tried to say... that, well-” Dutch tripped over his own words, ultimately gave up with a sigh.

“Dutch Van der Linde, silenced by a fifteen year old. Never thought I'd see the day.” Hosea said.

“Careful friend, I know where you sleep.” Dutch snarled.

“Luckily not in your bed with how loud you can snore.” Hosea winked at Arthur, who bit his bottom lip.

Dutch huffed at him. They helped Arthur back to his tent, got him settled in and all.

“Pssst.” John waited until the two older men had left.

“What?” Arthur whispered.

“You know what today is?” John also whispered. Seemed to be calm now, Hosea must have given him a quick talking to.

“A good day for some shut-eye?” Arthur placed his hands behind his head for support.

“No silly, it's Christmas.” John beamed.

Arthur frowned. “How'd you know about that?”

“Hosea told me them stories. About the bearded man dressed in red, he comes at night, leaves gifts for them that been good.” 

“He did?” Arthur never heard those stories, didn't think Hosea would tell them to John either.

“Uhu, tomorrow's a super special day. We gonna be getting the best gifts!”

Arthur snorted. “Don't hold your breath for that one, kid.” Best get his expectations down, makes the disappointment easier to bear.

“You'll see.” John pouted.

“Lemme sleep Johnny.” Arthur rolled over on his side. This was unexpected, maybe the gifts weren't such a bad idea after all? Should he proceed with his plan and stay up for a few more hours?

Sure, why not.

It was rough, trying to stay awake, tired as he was, he'd have to extra careful with his stupid foot. Wouldn't be easy to sneak around on it. Maybe he shouldn't bother with Hosea and Dutch's gifts? Save himself the embarrassment. 

_'Your actions define you, not by how you see them, but by how they are observed through others.'_

Arthur sighed, he weren't smart enough to fully understand the sisters words, but felt like he got the gist of it. How would they view his actions? Reckless, pointless?

Arthur groaned, this involved too much thinking, too tired for that. He'd just drop them off and deal with the disappointment in their faces, later.

He got up, put a bit of weight on his foot to test his limits. Felt better than a few hours ago, thanks Hosea. He fished the two packages out of his satchel, careful not to rattle anything. John's gift he placed next to the boys pillow. That was the easy part, with the book in hand he made his way to Hosea's tent. As he feared, it was hard to be quiet while he half hopped, he pushed the flap aside, managed to leave the wrapped book on top of the small pile of other books the man had collected over the years.

Arthur made it out again, closed the flap, slightly proud of how silent he managed to be in spite of his injury. Last but not least, Dutch's tent. He couldn't help but grin when the man's loud snoring greeted him. This would be easier than expected, he placed the beautifully wrapped gift on top of Dutch's chair, made his way back to his own tent. Pleased that it all went without a hitch. About time something went right, he thought as he slipped back under his blanket. Now he could finally get some rest.

~~~

“Hosea, Hosea!!!!”

Arthur rapidly sat up, startled by the high-pitched voice. The flap of his tent still moved after John had darted out.

“Hosea!! You was right, Father Christmas came to our tent!” John shouted as he darted across the camp.

“Ugh.” Arthur let his body flop back down, false alarm. He turned on his side, opened his eyes towards John's empty cot. Bits of newspaper were sprawled across it, a single package of chocolate remained, no doubt fell out of the kids hands as he rushed out. It made his mouth curl upwards.

“Dutch! Dutch! Look!” John shouted in the distance.

Arthur still felt exhausted, but curiosity ate away at his peace of mind. If Dutch and Hosea were up, they must have seen their own gifts. Part of him wanted to see their reaction, the other part dreaded it. He threw the covers down, stepped in his pants and boots, limped out of the tent in his long-johns. A small miscalculation, it was too damned chilly.

Dutch stood in the entrance of his tent, fully dressed, shiny pipe in his mouth as he smiled down at John who was busy showing off every different kind of candy.

Dutch looked up, towards Arthur, raised his hand, the one with the pipe in it, and nodded at him.

Arthur returned the nod, Dutch seemed relaxed, content even. He swallowed deeply, watched John as the kid hurried over to Hosea who sat at the campfire, also fully dressed. How long had he slept?

“Hosea! Look how many candies I got!” John dropped a few more as he held them out for Hosea to see, too excited to notice.

“Wow that's a lot, see if you can count them.” Hosea smirked, closed the book in his hands.

Arthur recognized the color of it's cover, it was the one he spent months worth of savings on. Not for nothing after all.

“Did he bring you something?” John asked.

“As a matter of fact he did.” Hosea showed him the book.

“Oooh.” John traced a finger over the letters on the cover, tried to read a few words but failed miserably.

“Don't just stand there, son, you'll catch a cold.” Dutch joined the two at the campfire, motioned Arthur over.

“You know, Father Christmas accidentally left you something in my tent as well.” Hosea said.

John gasped, his brows shot up as far as they could.

Hosea entered his tent, walked back out with a thin book in his hands and held it out to John.

“What's it say?” John's fingers brushed over the cover.

“You tell me.”

“Uhm... Tuh.” John started.

“The.” Hosea corrected.

“The... sh-shell fish.” John continued.

“Selfish.” Hosea corrected with a chuckle.

“The shellfish g-guh...“ John frowned, “guhnt?”

“The selfish giant.” Hosea read it out in full. “Good try, John.”

John grinned from ear to ear.

Arthur stood by the fire, held his hands out towards it. Little Johnny seemed so happy, a happiness Lyle never allowed him to have when he was a kid. Seeing the kid bounce around with such excitement filled him with a warmth equal to not even the brightest of fires.

“Arthur, what did you get?” John tugged on his sleeve.

“Uh, I'm a bit too old for them things.” He forced a smile out.

“But he came to Dutch and Hosea.” John frowned.

“It's the mental age that matters.” Arthur said, much to Hosea and Dutch's bemusement.

“Huh?” John's frown deepened.

“Don't worry about it kiddo, merry Christmas.” Arthur ruffled his hair.

“It's okay, we can share.” John held a few bars of chocolate out to him.

Arthur swallowed deeply. Stupid kid, being nice, it was hard to deal with _nice_. Much easier to handle cold and uncaring, things he was used to. “Nah, them's your gifts.”

“It's okay, Father Christmas got me enough for yeaaars!”John started to gather the ones he dropped.

“Years huh?” Arthur smiled. 

“With the rate at which you're eating them? You'll be lucky if they last an hour.” Hosea unwrapped another bar for the boy.

A cloud of smoke floated by his head. “How's it taste?” Arthur turned his head to Dutch.

“Like a hard earned prize.” Dutch grinned as he puffed his new pipe.

Arthur lowered his head, face flushed, a small smile appeared on his lips.

“Why don't we all get warmed up by the fire? We can melt some of that chocolate, mix it with a bit of condensed milk.”

“That a thing?” Arthur raised his head, frowned.

“Oh my, you boys are in for a treat.” Hosea grinned.

“Speaking of which.” Dutch wandered off to his tent. “Almost forgot that the bearded man _accidentally_ left something in my tent as well.

“More gifts?!” John bounced on the log, flung his legs over to face Dutch.

“Hmm, that is a lot of gifts isn't it? We wouldn't want you to get spoiled.” Dutch smiled.

“Not too much! I'll be even gooder if you let me have it!” John promised.

“Even gooder?” Dutch raised a brow at Hosea.

“You try and get him to concentrate for longer than half an hour.” Hosea grumbled.

“Catch.” Dutch tossed a wrapped object at John, who clumsily caught it.

“Wow! It's heavy.” John grinned as he inspected it.

Arthur sighed, wished he also had gotten everyone two gifts instead of the one. Didn't know that was the custom. Maybe if he'd been more curious, like John. Asked Hosea to tell him a few stories. Then he would have known, not that he could afford more.

“Arthur.”

Arthur rotated his torso towards Dutch, barely managed to catch the thing which flew straight at his head.

“Yes! knew it, knew he'd bring you something too!” John was overly excited, no doubt the amount of sugar he already consumed assisted him with that.

“What are you boys waiting for? Open them.” Hosea said.

John immediately tore away at the shiny wrapping. Arthur not so much, too stunned by the fact that he had gotten something, that it was wrapped with such care.

“That's an hour of work ruined in seconds.” Dutch mumbled with his eyes on John and the torn wrapping.

“Lot's of cursing too, it's a good thing Father Christmas has a more skilled helping hand.” Hosea happily added.

“Pff.” Dutch huffed, “I'm sure he would have managed.”

“Uhu, is that why he so often called for his trusty helper?” Hosea raised a brow at him.

Dutch narrowed his eyes, to which Hosea responded with a cackle.

Cursing? Helper? Is that what they were doing in Dutch's tent last night? When he was so worried that they were discussing who would tell that his time here was over and done with.

“What's the matter son? Not interested?” Dutch sounded concerned.

“Wha? Oh, no no, I-” He swallowed, stared down at the first gift he ever received.

“Whoa! It's a- it's a... uhm,” John frowned at the object, slipped his hand underneath the leather belt and mimicked a brushing motion. He knew what it was, for the horsies, but he forgot the word.

Arthur unwrapped his, found it to be a similar object, it made him smile.

“The Count and Silver are going to love these. Gonna get them well brushed up.” Arthur promised. He loved Hosea and Dutch's horses, always cared for them as best as he could.

“A selfless idiot like the world has never seen before.” Hosea rolled his eyes.

Arthur frowned at him.

“It's for your horses, well, horse and a pony.” Dutch rested a hand on Arthur and John's shoulders.

Arthur's face fell, mouth agape.

“A pony? I get a pony?!” John couldn't contain his excitement, not while he was seated.

“It's about time a big man such as yourself learns how to ride.” Dutch smiled, tousled John's hair.

“Gonna name mine.. boy! No... uhm, chocolate! No no... uhm-” John rambled on about various names.

“It's a Nokota horse, I think you'll love her. They're waiting for you at the stables.” Dutch smiled down at him.

“N-nokota? Them's like two hundred dollar horses.” Arthur stared at him, completely bewildered.

“We only want what's best for our sons.” Dutch said.

“Amen to that.” Hosea added.

He traced his fingers over the varnished brush. Arthur struggled to swallow, fought hard to not shed any tears. Not in front of John. “T-thank you.” He whispered with a raspy voice.

Arthur was stunned, didn't think he was worth two dollars, never mind two hundred. The first gift he ever received, straight up something worth more money than he ever possessed in his whole life.

“Ha ha! Arthur be crying!” John giggled.

“No I ain't.” Arthur briefly glared at him, rubbed his eyes and sniffled.

“John, be nice to your brother.” Hosea chided.

John's shoulders sagged. “Sowwee.”

Brother. Father, no. Father **s** , plural. Could they be, was it wrong to ask? Did he need that level of assurance? It would mean a lot, to hear how they felt about it.

Arthur slipped one hand into his pocket, the other he rested on top of the knee which belonged to his good leg. An attempt to keep it still as it bounced up and down.

“What say you boys we give this story a go? Stables should be open by the time we're done.” Hosea took the fable in his lap.

“Uhm.” Arthur stood up, faced everyone. “C-could I say something first?”

“The floor is yours.” Hosea said, closed the book.

Arthur pulled the crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and swallowed.

“To Dutch and Hosea,” he cleared his throat.

“I was once lost, until you found me,”

“Hungry, cold and broken,”

“You fed me, clothed me, mended me,”

“What you saw in me, I do not know,”

“Only that I am grateful,”

“For the kindness, you did show,”

“As friends and leaders, my heart and loyalty, you have won,”

“In return, I ask to be your son.”

He hadn't stuttered or stumbled over a single word. Only those who knew him could tell that he must have recited it a lot to manage that, both in reading and writing.

“Arthur.” He struggled to say his name, voice weak, throat dry, only now did he realize that his hands trembled. Regret overwhelmed him, these men were con-artists, thieves, gunslingers. Why would they want a boy and his sappy writings in their midst?

He made a fool of himself.

Couldn't read their expressions, couldn't stare at them for another second. He turned on his heels, headed straight for his tent where he would hide for the rest of the day, or week. He crumpled up the piece of paper, threw it at his pillow.

Lyle was right, he thought, stared straight at the topmost picture of the tiny stack. He wasn't good at anything which would help him survive. Always busy with his stupid drawings, head in the clouds as opposed to working on a plan to get by, useless, that's what he was.

He sniffled, brought the palms of his hands to his eyes and rubbed them, “Shit, oh Morgan you moron.” he muttered to himself.

Arthur sighed, closed his eyes when he heard the flap of his tent move, the clanging of spurs from the boots attached to them.

“Turn around.” Dutch ordered.

Arthur did as told, slowly, wished he could shrink down and turn invisible. He turned his head when Dutch walked closer, closed his eyes when his chin was pushed up by a single finger.

“Yes.” Dutch said.

Arthur opened his puffy eyes, searched Dutch's for meaning and intent.

“You-” Dutch used both hands to cup Arthur's face, “- _are_ my son. From now until the end of time itself. We... _I_ love you, and I will do anything, everything, to protect you and guide you.”

“R-really?”

“Come here.” Dutch pulled him into a warm embrace, his chin rested on top of Arthur's head.

“Arthur, my love for you and John goes deeper than hell itself. You could shoot me, and I would still hold you as close as I am now.”

Arthur couldn't return the hug, he just stood there, felt as if he floated. This was the gift he never thought to ask for, a gift more precious than the biggest bar of gold. 

The gift of a loving family.

“Little John will grow impatient if we linger much longer.” Dutch said.

“Y-yeah.” Arthur spoke softly.

“One more thing.” Dutch reached behind himself, fiddled with his belt.

Arthur frowned when Dutch presented him a book with no drawings or writing on it's cover. It's binding made of black leather, it was sealed with a belt and it's silver buckle.

“Thought you'd enjoy a little something for those drawings of yours, keep them tidy and in one place.” Dutch smiled.

Arthur accepted the third gift, his hands shook as he held the item and stared down at it. In response, Dutch's hands covered his, held them still.

“You've earned it son, I'd give you the world if I could, who knows, perhaps one day I will.” Dutch cooed.

This time, for the first time, it was Arthur who initiated the embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Guess we should uh, get back out there.” Arthur said.

“An excellent plan.” Dutch followed him out, stepped over the log and sat down in the spot John previously occupied.

Hosea was still seated in the same spot, while John carefully stroked his horse brush over the man's vest.

“Everyone comfortable? I believe it is story time.” Hosea smiled, opened the book.

“What colour is the pony?” John asked as he crawled up into Dutch's lap.

“You'll have to wait and see.” Dutch grinned.

John grabbed hold of Dutch's left arm, wrapped it around his middle, did the same with Dutch's other arm. Crossed them in front of him so he could snuggle against the man's chest.

Arthur saw the look Dutch and Hosea exchanged, swore they almost melted.

“Once upon a time... "Hosea started to read from the book.

Arthur smiled, no longer cared about the moistness in the corner of his eyes. When he woke up this morning, he feared that his wish for a day of togetherness would be rejected. He never expected to be gifted anything, never thought he would receive the greatest gift of all.

A loving family, a place which accepted him for who he was.

A place to call home.

Dutch leaned closer to Arthur, whispered into his ear.

“Merry Christmas, _son_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed,
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Just a little fluff story I decided to write down. Wanted to see if I could manage something other than my usual dark and depressing crap.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


End file.
